


Leather, Lace, and Knitted Things

by justfe3hthings



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - d/s verse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Poly, Collars, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gentle femdom, Kink, Post-Canon, biological imperative kink, dom!Mercedes, no beta - we die like Glenn, sub!Sylvain, unorthodox collars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justfe3hthings/pseuds/justfe3hthings
Summary: Sylvain and Mercedes, (with Annette in tow) return to Gautier territory to rebuild after the end of the war. The Margrave has schemes for the future, Sylvain struggles against the same expectations he's always faced, but this time Mercedes is there to help him pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Mercedes von Martritz (Mentioned), Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 39
Kudos: 84
Collections: DS-Verse FE3H Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dustofwarfare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/gifts).
  * Inspired by [won't go down easy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020399) by [dustofwarfare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare). 



> This work is inspired by and is more or less set in dustofwarfare's d/s-verse series Imperative.
> 
> Here’s the standard note/disclaimer given regarding this AU: This fic and others in this 'verse are predicated on the idea there's a biological imperative to fulfill dominance/submission urges (including some sadism/masochism) and might trip some sensitivities because of it. It's not intended to be either dub-con or non-con, so it's not tagged that way, but if you're sensitive to the whole "biological need to submit/dominate" thing, keep this in mind.
> 
> What is planned to be included:  
> Gentle femdom  
> Cock cage/edging/orgasm denial  
> Body worship/Oral sex  
> Pegging  
> Pretty man in lingerie (not feminization)
> 
> I will also note that I haven't written regularly in nearly a decade, so please be gentle. I also, unfortunately, do not have any personal experience with the kinks listed, so if it comes off funny, I'm sorry.
> 
> First chapter isn't particularly explicit, second chapter definitely is.

"If we put more effort into rebuilding the town first," Sylvain points out the destroyed buildings on the map that he had marked earlier, "the people will be more willing to remain. Our defenses against Sreng should hold for a while, although my father will be the best for answering those questions. He's held the defense of Gautier lands far longer than I've been alive."

The man in question snorts, "You took most of the men with you when you went to Fhirdiad. We'll be lucky if we survive the summer without doing some serious hiring."

"I did bring a good two-thirds of the battalions home," Sylvain notes, smiling apologetically at Edelgard's emissary, "Surely, there's no real need to hire mercenaries."

"Thankfully," his father pours another glass of wine, "You're not in charge of those decisions. You had your chance to make your mark on family history and look how that went."

Sylvain laughs, with a hint of bitterness. He's tempted to pour himself another glass, but a side glance at Mercedes next to him when he toys with the glass reveals a slight shake of her head, so he puts it down, "I don't see how you'd have done any differently."

"Odds were definitely against us." Annette pipes up, further down the table, before his father has a chance to embarrass him further.

"Dimitri just wasn't himself," Mercedes says, "He wasn't listening to anyone's advice or even willing to attend the tactics meetings."

She turns towards his father, an angel, really, speaking out against him, her voice firm, "Your son fought admirably, Margrave, but there wasn't anything anyone could have done."

Sylvain sends her a small smile, a real one, thankful that she and Annette had decided to come back with him after they had all gone to Enbarr and surrendered their Relics. He might have stayed there with Felix otherwise, stubbornly refusing to come home.

Edelgard's emissary clears her throat, bringing the attention back to her presence in the room, to the matters they were discussing. 

"We all wish this had gone differently," Sylvain says, turning his attention back to his map, "but, as they didn't, what can we do to make this transition period go easier?"

It’s a question addressed to the emissary, who he assumes has a list of tasks that need to be carried out, but it's his father that answers.

"We shore up the borders, like we always do, and then leave the Empire to pick up the costs if they want to waste their time rebuilding buildings that are going to be burnt down again for people who are never grateful for it any way."

The emissary gives him a cold glare and then turns to Sylvain, "Do you have a full list of the buildings that need repair, and who to contact to get supplies?"  
"I can get it for you within the day," he promises, "Mercedes and I have already started speaking with the town representatives and gathered their priority projects, but I have a couple of my own that I'd like to start outside of the Empire's efforts, if they're not approved initially."

She looks impressed, but his father interrupts, "Like hell you will. I won't have you wasting your inheritance on frivolous nonsense."

"Get me that list." the emissary says, "We'll see what you have in mind. The emperor appreciates you being willing to help with the peace efforts and I know that the prime minister will be happy with the progress here, provided that everything goes smoothly."

He smiles and nods, even as his father snorts yet again, and the emissary takes the meeting forward, bringing the defenses up, as its obvious that the elder Gautier won't discuss anything else useful. 

Easing back in his chair, Sylvain's happy to let the meeting run without his input, content to listen and only answer questions directed at him, of which there were not many. 

When the emissary pulls him aside just outside the door after the meeting, it doesn’t surprise him much when she expresses her gratitude and "requests" another meeting with just him and Mercedes and Annette. He complies easily, only sweating slightly at the sight of Mercedes watching from over the woman's shoulder.

They were careful about this thing between them, quiet and secretive, and Mercedes has never displayed jealousy with his easy submission to others, but he still had old habits from all the failed and sabotaged relationships he's been in, and there was always the worry--

"Sylvain!" his father calls, from the meeting room, the command sharp and tugging him away from his thoughts.

"Be right there!" he shouts back at his father, then turns to the others.

"If you'll excuse me," he smiles at the emissary with a hint of a bow, and then shrugs to Mercedes and Annette with a wink, "I'll catch up to you two lovely ladies later!"

"What do you know of our imperial guest?" his father asks, almost before the door is closed. 

"Uh, she's pretty and dominant?" he answers, confused. The woman wore the Imperial ring, marking her as a dominant in service to the Empire rather than a collar as a submissive would, something Sylvain knows his father has noticed.

"I can see that, what of her status? Is she important? Does she have a submissive already?"

"She's just here to gather information," Sylvain replies, heart sinking, "As far as I know, she's not particularly important, she's just laying the groundwork for when the prime minister visits and relaying information back to the emperor."

"Hm. What do you know of eligible nobles that have the _emperor's favor_?" he says this with a sneer, "Women, of course. You may take the name of your dominant's house, but I'll be damned if the bloodline dies as well."

Sylvain bristles internally, but keeps smiling, as he always does, "You were made aware that Edelgard is doing away with the nobility, in all corners of her new empire? You may not even have your title in a month."

In fact, between the emissary and the conversation Sylvain had had with the emperor herself, it was very likely.

"That'll only last as long as the nobility is willing to put up with it, and it won't. Likely, by the time your children are old enough to manifest our crest, everyone will be restless to restore the natural order of things."

"And let me guess, I'll have accepted a collar or a marriage strategically and will be there, guiding my crested children into the next bloody war?"

"Perhaps you're finally understanding things properly," his father pours yet another glass of wine and it takes every thought of disappointing Mercedes and not being allowed to cum for a week to lure Sylvain away from the siren's song that being drunk for this conversation is.

"So, tell me: Who has the imperial bitch's favor?"

"Well," Sylvain sits, staring at the table, "Petra definitely does, but she's returning to Brigid and that'll be too far away from your schemes to be useful. Bernadetta von Varley's eligible, but she's a submissive." An absolute nervous wreck of one, to be exact. Even if Sylvain weren't already otherwise occupied, he'd make a disaster of a match for her.

"Hm, I'll keep her in consideration." Because of course he would. 

A thought occurs to Sylvain, a desperate hope. "You know… Mercedes is of the imperial house Martritz. The house dissolved when her father died, but her half-brother made himself very useful to the emperor during the war and--"

"Absolutely out of the question."

"What? Why?" It had been a desperate hope.

"The woman fought alongside you and the king, Sylvain. Don't be dense. There's no way that this emperor will rely on someone who opposed her."

"Edelgard specifically is looking to us to help restructure the kingdom into the empire, and Mercedes already has good ties to the Empire, who could be better?"

"It'll take too long." the Margrave says, decidedly, "She's what, in her thirties?"

"Later mid-twenties," Sylvain defends, "What's that have to do with anything?"

"She's too old. By the time that she'll be anything of consequence, she won't have enough time to bear enough children to guarantee a crest. Even if you were collared to her now, there'd not be enough time. How old is von Varley?" 

"I don't recall," Sylvain says, eying the bottle of wine, desperately not wanting to be sober right now. 

He wants to blurt out a lot of things, that he'd more or less already accepted Mercedes' collar. That they were thinking about not having children, and that even if they eventually wanted to, she'd given him control over the decision in a very physical and sometimes uncomfortable sense, and that he was leaning towards the ending the Gautier line side of the decision.

None of that would go over well. And he still needed his father on his good side, to try and get him to allow funds to be used for their projects. 

No, it was definitely best that he stay sober, even if he hated every minute of it. 

***

By the time the argument is over and he manages to make his way to the town's small monastery, Sylvain has had enough of all this shit. Annette shushes him as he enters through the kitchen, gesturing to the makeshift dormitory just beyond the cracked open door. 

He eyes her cookies, but she smacks his hand as he reaches to steal one, hissing at him that they still needed to be iced, not that he would have cared. He warms his hands over the stove, making a general nuisance of himself until Annette points resolutely to the dormitory door and he's dismissed from the room. 

The younger children are here, napping on thick cots on the stone floor, and Sylvain curses himself, silently, of course, for not having been able to get something better together. If he were able, he'd bring them to the manor, let the orphans of his dead soldiers take comfort in it's long halls and many rooms.

But his father would never open his empty home to 'people who'd never appreciate it anyway', or allow Sylvain to spend his money on 'frivolous nonsense', so they'd had to dig into the small remains of their own pockets to get some supplies for the intended orphanage. It didn't cover nearly enough. 

And the orphanage was just the beginning of the list.

He makes his way quietly to the chair where Mercedes is knitting a scarf, and kneels, bowing his head and lightly resting it against her knees.

It’s a simple relief to sink to his knees at her feet, after all this day has done to him. She sets her needles down as she reaches the end of a row and runs a hand through his hair, smoothing out his messy red locks as best as she can for a few minutes, before returning to the next row. It's soothing, and he feels some of the stress ease out, just from her touch.

He watches as the yarn is pulled up smoothly from the ball tumbling in its bowl, both of them content to sit in peace.

"What did your father want?" she prompts, after a while, voice quiet as she hands him a couple of skeins.

He's been hers long enough that he doesn't need instruction and starts looping the yarn to begin a new ball. It’s a new yarn color, a lilac instead of the deep blue she's currently using, he gathers that she must be almost finished with her project.

It's soothing, being here, not required to do anything but kneel and wind.

"Well?" she asks, after a couple of minutes, and Sylvain remembers that she's asked him a question. 

"Oh, the usual. He's trying to marry me off and wanted a list of candidates." 

"Hm." He flicks his eyes up to hers, briefly, but she's still concentrated on counting stitches, and he lowers his gaze.

"He's convinced that Edelgard's reforms aren't going to last and wants to have me placed as strategically as possible."

He hesitates, finishing up the first ball and starting on another skein, "I actually brought you up as one, on account of Emile and all."

"Oh?" she falters in her knitting and sighs, counting the stitches again before resuming, finishing the row before speaking again, "What did he have to say?"

"Instantly vetoed. He's convinced that you'll never be close enough to Edelgard to be useful in his grand scheme."

She hums, amused, and he's determined that he won't repeat any of the other, horrid things his father had said about the idea. Or about any of the other things said afterwards.

"I'll be delayed in my plans a little longer then."

"Plans?" he asks, glancing up, meeting her gaze.

"Mhm. I've been wanting to have a collar made for a while now, but the time isn't right."

"Aw," he says, heat and happiness flushing him, pushing the negative emotions of the morning away, "But you've already given me one."

Mercedes giggles, setting aside her knitting and cradling his face in her hands, "That doesn't count. It doesn't tell the world that you're mine."

"I don't know," Sylvain says with a smile and a wink, "What could possibly say 'I own this man' more than literally having me by the--"

"Aunt Mercie, is it time to get up yet?" They both glance over at one of the children, a sweet girl that Sylvain remembers is named Celia. She's sitting up, groggily, just disoriented enough to be loud and wake everyone else up if not contained.

"Not yet, sweetie," Mercedes says, a small hint of dominance in her voice, "Lay back down and close your eyes."

"Ok," the girl lays down, cuddling up in her blanket, her eyes on Sylvain until they close.

He feels a slight tug on his hair and he looks up as she guides his head back. 

"As much as I'd like to continue our conversation, this isn't the place for it." she smiles mischievously, her voice firming into a command, "Head upstairs and get yourself ready for me. I should be up there in a half-hour or so."

"As my lady wishes," he says, handing her the yarn balls, "do you want me to pull out a few things or am I enough of a toy today?"

"Mm," she says, releasing his hair and running a finger over his lips, dipping it inside just for a second to touch his tongue, "Pull a few things out, but make a good impression with this when I get up there and we'll talk."

"Yes, ma'am!" he says, scrambling to his feet and making his way out of the room as quietly as he could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain thinks too much, is distracted by Mercedes, and is very good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, everybody is consenting, see first chapter for list of warnings and notes about this fic. 
> 
> As before, its unbetaed. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think, constructive criticism and warranted praise welcome!

There isn't much to Mercedes' room upstairs. A small bed tucked up against the wall, an old red settee in front of a small hearth, a small mirror hanging on the wall. Mercedes' chest of belongings almost dwarfing the rest of the room.

It warms his heart that both she first and then Annette had insisted on staying here so they could help with the children, rather than accepting his father's stiff offer to stay at the manor, as other ladies of their status would. That she would cast aside comfort, after a long war with far too many bedrolls and tents, to show solidarity with those who were suffering. 

She is more wonderful and noble than he or his father have ever been, her warmth and love for everyone both draws Sylvain in and makes him feel incredibly guilty for all the ways he lacks.

Shaking his head free of the darker thoughts that guilt always led to, he sets about making the room a more habitable place, lighting and stoking the fire in the hearth, setting the pail of water and washcloths he had brought up for cleanup later nearby to warm, pulling out a couple of blankets to keep them from getting cold if they both ended up as naked as Sylvain hoped. 

He starts on his part in that hope, huddling near the hearth as he strips of everything and folds it, leaving just the cage around his cock. 

It's the collar that Mercedes insists isn't one, and Sylvain insists is, joking away his worry about her not wanting to give him an actual one, that she'll discard him once she has what she wants, or realizes that he isn't what she wants, just like all the others. 

He'd bought it half as a joke after their first fight, when he'd tried to break things off after panicking about how deep his feelings for her went. He'd been sure that he'd sabotage the relationship, just like he had with any of the other people that stuck around longer than he'd thought. Mercedes was special, the friendship that they'd shared at the academy and the way she understood him made him want to stop things before he hurt her.

But she had refused to let him give her any bullshit excuses and he eventually had been forced to admit that he didn't want to end it.

"There," he'd said, half tossing the package containing the cage and its keys at her, "If you're so sure you want to keep me, now I can't cheat on you."

He remembers her being hurt that he'd think she'd worry about that, but cheating or generally being an ass was how he'd always dealt with his worries about his future, and this was his way of reassuring himself that he wouldn't ruin this. Even when he was being stupid. 

Eventually she was touched at the devotion he was trying, badly, to communicate. Now it was a shared secret between them, a way to assure them both that he was hers when he still flirted with or submitted to others, trying to keep his father from finding out about them having more than a casual involvement. He still worries about doing something to ruin this, but with the end of the war and everything else, it's been shoved to the back of his mind. 

The cage was just the first of the things they had bought for each other. Sylvain kneels next to the bed, pulling out another chest, the one that's contains everything else they've collected over the past year and some change.

It's time for the fun part: deciding what things to lay out in hopes that Mercedes would use them. They don't always end up being involved, often Mercedes doesn't use everything or decides that he needs something else, but it's nice to have his opinion considered. It's one of the reasons that he likes being hers so much.

He scoots backwards a bit to make room, and considers carefully the contents. Some days, it's easy to pick a few things, but, after everything today, it's hard to come to a decision on what he actually wants.

Sylvain curses, trying to put thoughts of his argument with his father and his other worries out of his mind. While things stood the way they did, there wasn't a lot of time he would be able to spend with Mercedes without his father getting suspicious.

And he definitely didn't want that time to be taken up with Mercedes having to settle him and put him back together over the stupid things his father says. With that in mind, he pushes all those thoughts away and does his best to 

He immediately rejects the blindfold and their rope, it's the first day they've been able to be together in week, the first time in a long while that they've had any real privacy and he'd like to see and touch everything he can, if he's allowed. 

He tugs those things to the side, and continues rummaging through the box, keenly aware that Mercedes had asked him to pull a few things out, and that each moment he spent considering his options was each moment he hadn't done as she asked.

A package catches his eye, hidden under the rope and some silky things that Mercedes has previously blessed him with seeing her in and he smiles, pulling it out carefully.

"When I sent you up here, I didn't think that you just wanted to cuddle, but I suppose I can accommodate."

Sylvain startles, glancing up to see her smiling around at the room, having noticed the blankets and the lit hearth, taking off her hat and setting it aside, along with the scarf she'd been working on and a tray of Annette's cookies.

"Sorry," he says, grinning, though there had been no reproach in her teasing voice, "After so long, I'm overwhelmed by all the options."

She laughs, starting to undress, "It's only been a week, and I've let you have your key in the meantime, I know you're not that desperate."

He drinks in each new sight of her pale skin greedily, his throat suddenly dry, all the blood trying to fill his cock, straining against the cage.

"A week's an eternity without you," he winks, "Don't tell me you didn't miss me." 

Mercedes giggles, and then nods at the package in his hand, "Is that the lingerie you bought when you were trying to hide that you got really drunk riding back from Fraldarius that one time?"

"Maybe," Sylvain shrugs, teasing, "I should put it away? You didn't seem to appreciate it last time."

"I was too busy trying to avoid your breath and figure out what to do with you." she slinks out of most of her underthings, leaving just her stockings on and Sylvain breathless, "go ahead, put it on for me."

"Alright," he murmurs, blinking, reluctantly turning his attention to the package, carefully unfolding the pieces inside and checking for runs. He had been drunk when he bought it, and even drunker when he tried to wear it to distract her from how far gone he was. There was always the possibility that it was ruined.

Thankfully, a quick check reveals that it's almost pristine and he had to admit that it had been worth the money he'd spent on it, even though his conscience argues that the money could have been saved for some of the needs they have presently.

It wasn't a real practical piece, but it is beautiful, a hint of a black leather harness running up his chest and curling over his hips, his neck and shoulders covered in black lace and dripping crystals, accompanied by matching wrist gloves and stockings. 

Sylvain slides the pieces on, aware of Mercedes' eyes on him from where she sits on the bed. He knows he looks good, all muscle from years of fighting and riding framed by something so decadent, but he only cares if it please her.

Settling on the settee, he leans one arm up on the back, smirking at Mercedes. 

"Well?" he asks, "Making a better impression than last time, I hope?"

"Much," she says, rising up from the bed and running her fingertips along his shoulder, cupping a hand under his chin and raising it to look in his eyes, "although you still seem stressed from earlier."

"Me, stressed?" he raises his hands behind his head and smiles, "Not at all, unless you count the lack of blood in a very important part of my anatomy."

She huffs, a laugh without humor, pressing her lips to his, her legs pushing his further apart as she stands between them, "Dishonesty doesn't suit you, sweetheart."

He moans against her lips, still keeping up his smile, despite being caught out, "I'm not lying! I would like the cage off at the moment! Besides, I thought you were up here for fun, not to interrogate me."

She gives him a look that makes his smile falter, one that tells him he's pushing it, and his gaze drops submissively, a restless shiver running up his back.

"So, my father's an ass, what's new?" he glances up at her, briefly, and then returns his gaze down, his eyes catching on her breasts and his key hanging on a chain between them, "I'm fine, I'd really rather not think about it right now."

He doesn't think he'll be pressed for more than that, unless she feels like he's crumbling much more than he thinks. It's not against the rules for him to hide away from things he'd rather not deal with, just for him to act in any of the number of specific ways that cause him harm. Which he's been really good about not doing lately, even if he'd been sorely tempted to indulge himself earlier.

"Mm," she slides her thumb over his cheek and pulls back a little, her other hand hooking under the strap running up his chest and giving it the slightest pull.

He scrambles up at the unspoken command. The straps weren't anchored to anything substantial in the piece, even a careful attempt at actual bondage would ruin it. There's no question what's meant by the gentle tug.

She guides him a step away from the settee, and gives the strap a slight pull down. 

Sylvain may tower over her, strong and sure, but that's all it takes to put him on his knees. He knows that if others knew how easy it was for her to make him kneel, they'd only scoff and it'd just be another thing to add to the rumor mill surrounding his reputation, but they'd never know that she's the only one he's submitted to wholeheartedly.

"Settle there for a moment, no unpleasant thoughts," Mercedes says with an affectionate ruffle through his hair, and leaves to go through the chest behind him.

He does, mind drifting a little as he continues kneeling, facing the settee, listening to the rustles behind him. The part of him that isn't half-under occupies itself with wondering what she's got in mind, stubbornly pushing away the other restless thoughts. She told him to settle, and by the goddess, that's what he's going to do. 

A few minutes later, she returns, her stockinged legs appearing in his downcast view as she sits on the settee, drawing his chin up with her hand, directing his attention up to her eyes, although he'd admit that there were other sights on the way there that'd definitely caught his attention first. The demure crossing of her ankles, the pale tops of her thighs where the stockings don't cover, the swell of her breasts. The glass dildo in its harness held in her other hand, the bottle of their favorite oil nearby at her side.

"See anything you like?" she teases, setting aside the harness to give him her full attention, running fingers along his face and searching his eyes for the hurts that he's already been able to push away for now, under her words and care.

"Maybe," he teases back, "See anything /you/ like?"

There'd been a time he'd worried that that sort of response would anger her, but by now they've settled into a comfortable understanding of each other and appreciate the gentle back-and-forth.

"Mhm," she smiles, running her hands along the lace, trailing fingers along the neck, one foot nudging his legs farther apart, "you do look wonderful in this."

"I told you I have good taste."

Her eyes darken in desire as he lifts his chin higher, giving her a fuller view of him.

"You're going to be so beautiful when I fuck you."

Another full blown shiver, this one pure pleasure, runs down his spine and he gasps, flushing. He's gathered that that was her intention, but to hear such a filthy thing from someone usually so proper makes even him blush.

"But first," she lifts the chain from around her neck and dangles the key in his face, "I've missed you. I haven't had a chance to go restock on my usual supplies, so unless you'd like to pause and have a long discussion otherwise, you won't be allowed inside me, but I'm sure you're clever enough to find other ways to please me."

"Tongue and magic fingers it is then!" he says and hurries to unlock himself, to a thunderous snort of laughter and a smack on the shoulder as Mercedes tells him what an absurd thing that was to say, as if she wasn't amused by it.

"Hey, you're the one laughing," Sylvain kisses lightly at one knee, then wrapping his chest against them as he slides his hands softly up the outsides of her legs to her waist, gazing up at her adoringly.

"We've got to work on that," she says, parting her legs and allowing him closer, running a hand through his hair, the other resting on his arm and rubbing a thumb over it.

He doesn't respond, too busy pressing gentle kisses to the inside of one thigh and taking in the sights and sounds she makes as he runs his hands everywhere he can reach, careful to attend to areas she enjoys the most.

Rising from his knees, he leans up but hesitates, inches from her face, silently asking for permission. She kisses him, drawing him in close, and he takes advantage, kissing along her neck and down along her, drawing pleasured moans and gasps where ever his lips go. He teases her, until her legs are wrapped over his shoulders and she's slouched halfway off the settee, fingers tangled in his hair and tugging him closer as he worships, his fingers slipping inside her and curling exactly as he knows she likes. 

She tugs him away for a brief moment, gasping, "You can come whenever you like, but you'd better not get distracted."

He's dragged back to her and for the next few minutes, he's just consumed by Mercedes, by her movements and gasps, by her thighs tightening around his ears, by her moaning his name as she tightens around his fingers and he spills over the hand wrapped around his cock.

Mercedes relaxes her grip as she comes down, and then guides him up gently, gathering him up to her on the settee, murmuring praise and pressing kisses to the top of his head as she runs her hands along his arms and back.

"You're so _good_ for me, Sylvain," she says as he curls around her, tucking his head in the crook of her shoulder.

It's bliss. 

Floating along, Sylvain barely hears the knock on the door and Annette hesitantly saying something entirely unimportant through it and just nuzzles closer as Mercedes replies back, ignoring the aggravated tone. He knows _he's_ not the source of any frustration.

He's been _good_ and he's made his dominant happy and that's all that matters.

"Sweetheart," she says, gently sitting them both up, "We've got to get you up and dressed."

"But you were going to.." he looks over at the toy she'd pulled out, having been pushed haphazardly out of the way in pursuit of cuddling, "I wanted.."

"I know, I'm sorry, we'll have to try again later. Edelgard's emissary is looking for you and it sounds like she won't be ignored." 

She helps him out of his lingerie and he gradually comes out of his headspace as they clean up and get back into their clothes.

"I guess you'll want this back," he says mournfully, handing her his key and in exchange receiving a cookie. 

"I've got to keep you coming back somehow," she giggles, putting on the chain and letting the key disappear beneath her clothes.

"I'd come back anyway," he says, smiling defensively, suddenly feeling a bit unsure.

She sees this and pulls at the collar of his shirt, kissing him when he bends to her height. 

"I wish you didn't have to leave so soon, I worry about you dropping." she turns away, as if suddenly remembering something, and returns with the scarf she was working on earlier.

"I made you this." she says, her voice firm, "You're going to wear it whenever feasibly possible, especially if I'm not there."

Sylvain doesn't say anything as she loops it into a fashionable style around his neck, touching it softly as she tucks the ends into the layers of his clothes.

"If you start feeling bad or are anxious over something or _someone_ " she says pointedly, caressing his cheek, "You're going to feel that scarf and know that you are loved, you are good, and that you make me so proud."

He smiles, tries to come up with a joke to cover for how overwhelmed he's feeling, but she just gives him another kiss.

"Mercie," Annette sighs, from the other side of the door, "she's going to start looking for him if he doesn't come out soon."

He pulls away, stealing another cookie, and leaves to take up his responsibilities once more, cracking a joke at Annette on his way out that he barely thinks about and probably has used before. Though he's still half-dazed and sad over the loss of time with Mercedes, there's a part of him that feels anchored, and he clings to it, running a finger along her scarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant this chapter to be pure smut, but then FEELINGS.
> 
> Next up: plot, and more of Sylvain's father being an ass.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain drinks responsibly, Mercedes has a lovely conversation with the Margrave, and the plot arrives.

"Heave!"

When Sylvain had told Edelgard of his desire to return to Gautier territory to rebuild, among other things, he had not considered physically doing the work himself. Now that he's had a taste of it, he wonders why it had never occurred to him before. As tiring as it was, it felt like he had accomplished more in one day than he had in the two weeks of meetings at the manor.

"A little more!"

Sylvain pulls at the rope with all his strength, no reservations for the last lift of the day, one of many handling this final part of the heavy oak frame. He's thankful that all of his hours on horseback means that at least his thighs wanted to cooperate with the work, even if there's a Felix-voice bit of self-deprecation that insists that if he had trained harder all these years, the rest of him would be cooperating too.

"That's it!" says the man at the top of the already standing framework, "Hold!"

He does, straining to neither give slack or pull harder until the framing has been secured and then joins in the cheer with the rest of the people gathered on this project. 

Another house frame up, only a half dozen or so more to go. They weren't officially part of the imperial emissary's plan for the region, but Sylvain's enthusiasm and willingness to work himself to help provide shelter for his people in the coming winter had quickly warmed her to the idea. 

It felt so good to build something permanent for once, rather than feeling like he was just traveling through a place, seeking lives to destroy.

There's hard-earned laughter rippling through the crowd at the end of a long day's work, and when someone shouts, only half in jest, "Come down for a round at the tavern with us, my lord?", he only pauses to consider the time before readily agreeing.

They all wander down, commoners, soldiers, and one noble alike, weariness already making them stumble. 

Sylvain secures a seat at a long table with a number of them and then makes his way to the tavern-keeper.

"First round on me," he says, quietly. There had been a time, not even all that long ago, when that would have been proclaimed loudly and started off a raucous evening. It still might be, but not for him, not with a secret meeting planned with Mercedes and dinner to attend with his father and the others. And certainly not when he only plans on one drink.

"Very well, my lord," the tavern keeper nods, pouring a tankard and sliding it to him, "The bill will go out to your father first thing in the morning."

"Mm-No!" Sylvain sputters and shakes his head, mouth half-full with the first wonderful sip, "send it addressed to me directly."

Force of habit. His father had never exactly approved of his drunken wandering over the years, but had always paid, taking his ire out on Sylvain in a verbal tirade while he was hungover and full of regret. He's learned to just pay it himself, when the owner of whatever tavern he'd stumbled into had decided that he hadn't been an absolute terror that night and sent the bill to him rather than the Margrave. It had saved him about half the trouble over the years, but with things as delicate as they are, he's not sure he could fall back on his father's pockets.

"As you wish, my lord."

Sylvain takes his seat with the others, waiting and chatting and flirting with the pretty brunette across from him until they've all been served before taking another sip. He sighs in satisfaction as the ale clears the sawdust from his throat. 

The table is full of happy, tired people who almost all seem happy to have him there, and isn't that a pleasure? He doesn't know most of them, only a few soldiers that he vaguely recognizes, the rest of the men and women only made familiar by the frequent sighting during the day.

There is one man a few seats down, who had glared at him this morning, and even now shoots him brief, irritated glances. Sylvain just ignores him, at least until the pretty brunette leaves and he slides down into her seat.

"I'm surprised," he says, taking a drink, "You managed to survive a whole conversation without getting slapped or even yelled at."

Sylvain sighs, glancing at his half-empty tankard, wondering if this was a night where he'd get fists thrown at him before he'd be allowed to finish it. 

"Let me guess: I disrespected your sister or your mother or your cousin in some way during the past decade and you'd like to punch me."

"Two years ago, my best friend and now fiancé."

"Oh. My apologies to your fiancé and congratulations?" Sylvain takes another drink, hoping that his levity was enough to ease the situation. It worked, sometimes.

"Do you think that a quick apology fixes everything, my lord?" the man huffs, "I bet you wouldn't even have any idea who she is or what you did, even if you met her again."

Wincing, Sylvain shakes his head. 

"I've been an ass to too many people over the years. I'm afraid the details are a little fuzzy."

The man snorts, clearly not expecting that, and takes another drink, looking slightly mollified. 

"At least you acknowledge it now." he stares at Sylvain, "One day of working with the common folk doesn't make up for a lifetime of shit though. I still want to punch you."

Sylvain smiles "What, too afraid of my father? He might thank you for it, honestly."

There was a suitor arriving soon, although his father hadn't said who. He'd tried to argue that things were too busy to be looking for a wife or a dominant, but that hadn't gotten him far.

_"I gave you a year at the academy and I gave you time during the war and nothing has been gained. You're done wasting my time."_

It had started another argument, and he hadn't been able to sneak away to Mercedes afterwards to lick his wounds. Just like he'd hardly been able to in weeks. Turns out, his father had been paying more attention than Sylvain thought he would when he'd mentioned her, and between his father and his work with Edelgard's emissary, they'd only had moments alone, him kneeling for her, out of sight, her hand in his hair, his own wound in her scarf, quick exchanges of his key, all while awkwardly relying on Annette to distract anyone that inevitably came their way.

They had a plan for tonight though, a good half-hour or so stolen away from everyone else, in Gautier's old family library.

"Well, I'd rather not risk it," the man across from his says bringing Sylvain's thought back to the present, "Still, why are you like this to every woman you come across? How do you live with yourself?"

"Why? I'm an idiot, that's why." he stares into the bottom of his nearly-empty tankard, then realizes what he said.

"No," he points two fingers upwards and shakes them, as if chiding himself, Mercedes' word of _'No tearing yourself down'_ echoing in his mind, "I didn't make very good decisions when I was younger, but I'm working on doing better now."

"Still doesn't change the fact that you hurt people. And it doesn't mean people are just going to forget." The man seems amused, though, and Sylvain takes it as a good sign.

"Another round!" someone calls out, and a cheer goes up.

Sylvain drains the last of his ale, a brief desire to join in stirring, until he remembers that he's due at Mercedes's side soon, and that dinner is only a few hours away.

"I need to head out." He stands, glancing over at his drinking partner, "Do let your lucky lady know that I am sorry for the wrongs I've done her, and that she can seek me out for a more thorough apology, I'll be around. Congratulations again, may you both have all the happiness in the world."

The man grunts but smiles and waves him off.

A victory for him then. Another apology down, another house frame up. Perhaps next his father would forget this suitor nonsense spontaneously and Sreng would be willing to talk peace.

He winds Mercedes' scarf around his neck a little snugger, securing himself against the breeze of the fading summer, and begins the trek up to the manor. The slight warmth from the ale loosens him up for humming along with some silly thing Annette had sung a few days ago. He feels oddly at peace with the world.

***  
"My son will be making it to dinner tonight, won't he?" the Margrave asks, turning towards Edelgard's emissary, "Provided, of course, that he's done pretending to be a common laborer at your behest and graces us with his presence?"

"Sylvain did ask where he could be most useful today, Margrave," the woman says, nonplussed, "And while he's been invaluable in these meetings, there wasn't anything he could assist with today, so I put him somewhere useful."

"He's a Gautier," the man paces, “he's most useful either here or wherever I send him. You'd do well to remember that."

"I'll take it into consideration," the woman says crisply, and Mercedes stifles a giggle at how unimpressed she is by the noble's tone, "This is as good a place as any to stop for the day. I'll see you all later at dinner."

Mercedes doesn’t move, knitting needles still picking at the nice woolen yarn lumped haphazardly in her knitting bag. The others give her a funny look but start shuffling out. Annette confirms plans with her, and then hugs her, happily trailing off to occupy herself until they ate.

The door closes, leaving just her and the Margrave behind.

"Oh, don't mind me, Margrave," she says cheerily, "I just have to finish this row real quick and I'll get out of here.

"That's… fine, I suppose." He eyes her project with curiosity.

"It's a blanket I'm working on for one of the children."

The first time Mercedes had brought her knitting to a war meeting, it had confused everyone, Gilbert had even taken her aside afterwards, hinting that she'd been rude by not giving her full attention, despite her giving commentary where appropriate. They'd all soon started ignoring it though, once the scarves and hats she finished during those meetings started circulating during the cold Fodlen winter.

Explaining herself again had been amusing but working on a tactile project while arguments were flung around the room made holding her tongue much easier.

"It's no problem. Actually, I wanted to speak to you about something." The Margrave slides into the chair across from her.

"What about?" She carefully tracks the stitches across the blanket, prepared for distraction. 

"How familiar are you with Constance Nuvelle?"

"Constance?" She does lose track and has to recount from the beginning of the repeat. She considers the question. "Well, we were friends as children, but lost track of each other when my mother and I left House Bartels. We were at the Academy together, but she was with the Black Eagles, I think. We didn't have much time to reconnect. I did see her in Enbarr, but not for long. She was rather busy trying to sort out her research after the war ended. Why do you ask?"

"She and I have been corresponding regarding Sylvain. She's due in sometime tomorrow. I was wondering if you had any insight to help Sylvain make the best of the opportunity."

"I see," Mercedes begins knitting again, hiding her expression, which she knows is not at all the neutral serenity she wants to project during any interaction with the Margrave. "I'm afraid I don't have much information to offer. She's come to court him, then? She's always been so focused on her family circumstances whenever I talked to her, it’s a bit surprising."

"Yes, well, that's why I wrote to her. I've heard that her dedication has paid off, and she's garnered the favor of her emperor and House Nuvelle has been recognized, at least for this generation." 

"And she's looking for a husband or a submissive now?" That didn't seem like Constance at all. Mercedes wasn't lying, she wasn't close to her old childhood friend, but marriage had never been on Constance's mind, even with the light teasing that Mercedes and Annette had given her about being so committed to one end that the rest of life passed her by. 

Even if she were looking for someone, why come all the way to the frozen margraviate, after a man that had fought against the emperor she so gleefully served? Especially one that she'd probably never spoken to at the academy?

"Well, a research assistant, or at least that's what she said in reply to my inquiry about her interest in a courtship. Fortunately, Sylvain's work as a dark knight caught her eye, and she was pleased to hear that he's a submissive as well. Said something about that making her work easier. But, Sylvain will take advantage of the opportunity given and she'll collar him eventually. He'll ensure Gautier's place in this new empire. For however little time it holds."

Mercedes pauses in her knitting, staring at the stitches, and asks, "Do you really think that's the best option for Sylvain? To be locked into in this sort of arrangement?"

"It appears to be the best option for Gautier and therefore that's what he'll do. Sylvain knows his place." The Margrave pauses, and Mercedes glances up to find her studying her, "House Martritz, if I recall correctly? A baronet?"

She shrugs, "House Martritz, House Bartels, neither have come to particularly interesting ends. I bear the name Martritz, but no title or lands, Bartels has been abandoned. I was adopted by a commoner when I was young, and honestly, am probably better off for it now."

The man scoffs, politely, "I'm very sorry to hear that. Well, then, I suppose you are not familiar with the intricacies of Sylvain's role as heir. He-"

"I'm familiar," Mercedes interrupts, "My apologies, but I do remember how family honor works. It's never treated my mother or I well."

"Well, then you know that Sylvain has obligations, and it's time that he started fulfilling them."

"Even if it's not something that he wants?" Mercedes puts away her knitting as she says this, making very sure that she doesn't have her knitting needles in hand when he answers in his predictably irritating way. Things might be unstable across Fodlen right now but murdering the Margrave with what amounted to a metal spike could only make things worse.

"He's had time to settle to the, to get all the foolishness of his system. It may be his choice to take a collar or marry, but he knows what's best for him and the family, and he'll choose correctly."

She just stares at him. 

"And how exactly do you factor the likelihood of Edelgard stripping you of your title and fortune into your confidence that he'll make such a important decision in your favor? After your family name means nothing and there no inheritance to reward him?"

There was a voice chiding her from somewhere about saying something so blunt, but Mercedes pushed it aside. She'd known from the beginning of this relationship that family obligation would likely either end their relationship or result in Sylvain being disowned, and few options that ended with everyone being satisfied. There was a reason she hadn't already given Sylvain her collar, and it had everything to do with the decision she knew he'd have to make. If being rude gave her some insight into the man that held this power over her Sylvain, she'd be a lot ruder if needed.

Mercedes coolly meets his gaze as the Margrave considers her.

"If Sylvain thinks that this political development has bested me and that I haven't a plan to preserve our family heritage if we get stripped of everything the emperor knows about, he's a fool." He purses his hands against his lips, still looking at her, as if he doesn't quite know if he's figured out, "You collared Baron Dominic's niece, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yes?" she asks, "I fail to see what Annie and I have to do with Sylvain and Constance."

He ignores her attempt to redirect the conversation back to it original topic.

"Sylvain and I spoke about potential courtships when all of you arrived from Enbarr, and he mentioned you. However, you've already collared a submissive."

"Yes, that is true Margrave." She wonders where specifically this is going, "I know its rarer in Faerghus to collar more than one submissive than it is in the rest of Fodlen, but it does happen."

"It does, but I'm more interested in why he mentioned you. You seem rather close."

Mercedes sighs, considering how best to answer. "If you're wondering, Margrave, yes. Sylvain has served me in the past and we have grown very close. War does that, and I can't say that I'm at all sorry for it."

"Have you offered him your collar?" She didn't need to be a submissive to feel the displeasure he was projecting, not that it influenced her much. 

"No," she answers truthfully, "I have not."

Technically, Sylvain had bought the cage that he teased so often as her collar, and though she certainly hadn't caught him _not_ wearing her scarf since she gave it to him, that didn't count. It didn't count either that she'd been asking around to find a good leather worker since they'd arrived. Time to move those plans up.

"He would never accept it, anyway." the Margrave says, looking off toward his desk and the window, breaking eye contact, "I must ask that you not consider it further."

"I won't promise that," Mercedes says bluntly, standing and gathering her things, not giving the Margrave even a moment to process what she said, "There's still some time before dinner, yes?"

"Yes," he answers, blinking at the shift in the conversation, "About an hour or so."

"I'll see you all then. Good luck with Sylvain and Constance, I hope that things work out for the best."

She smiles, sweetly, before leaving without another word to find that family library Sylvain had described to her. Time to make her sweet boy desperate and make sure he knew who he belonged to, officially or not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes gets handsy and Sylvain squirms through dinner.

Family libraries were dull places, Mercedes had found, and that's why she'd chosen the one in the Gautier manor as the rendezvous point for this brief affair. No one would bother coming here, not with it being situated in a long hallway off another long hallway off the main entrance, and not with the boring contents it held. Sylvain had mentioned that it had once had been raided when a bunch of bandits had mistaken it for the more private library upstairs, but otherwise it rarely was ever used and more frequently entered by servants dusting than anyone else.

Her mind wanders as she waits, fingers trailing along spines as she considers how best to torment Sylvain tonight. 

She pulls out random books, flipping through the pages idly, putting them back and drawing out others. Sylvain hadn’t been lying when he said all the interesting books were upstairs. Just as she considers getting her knitting project back out, a bell rings, signaling the hour.

She frowns, not much time until dinner. Also, there wasn't much sound filtering, was there? Even with the remote location, perhaps best to make sure they kept quiet.

As if sensing that he's on the brink of being tardy, the door opens, and Sylvain slips inside, locking the door behind him. 

"Sorry for getting here late. It took longer to get presentable than I expected.” He starts to move forward, presumably to come kneel at her side as he usually does, but hesitates, as if he doesn’t want to presume that that’s what she wants. Mercedes smiles and pats the side of her thigh, beckoning him to her. His entire face lights up and he goes to his knees without another thought. 

"Hm, I suppose it wouldn’t have been pleasant for either of us if you’d come here straight away." She runs a hand through his still damp hair. He shifts slightly on his knees, eager for her touch, fingers then clenching closed on his thighs as he stills himself to kneel properly, and the sight thrills her. If they weren't expected at dinner, she might have him there for a time, to see how long he could be good for her before she gives him what he needs.

She's struck again by how long they've been without taking care of each other. The last time, at the monastery, she had thought he was desperate, but she can tell that the little tasks he'd been given here and there since then haven't been enough.

She continues ruffling his hair, giving it light tugs, putting whatever book she'd been not reading away.

"Did you have a good day?" She considers her options, rotating through the various scenarios that she'd been preparing in response to however he answers.

"Yeah," A hint of a smile peeks out from what little she can see of his face from this angle, "It was good to get out of the manor and away from meetings. Do some real work for once." 

"You missed a truly thrilling one today. I thought at one point that your father was going to throw us all out." She keeps her voice light; it hadn't been quite that bad.

"I'm glad I missed it," She can see his smirk clearly, despite his bowed head, "I'm thinking about skipping tomorrow too."

Thoughts of tomorrow brings her mind back to the conversation with the Margrave, about how someone else was arriving tomorrow to court her submissive. It wasn’t like her to be jealous, truly, but this wasn’t some girl Sylvain was flirting with. With that, there was smug satisfaction that those girls were never getting more than casual flirting or submission with her silent approval, that she was the only one that had his heart. This was different. 

Slipping fingers under his chin, she tilts it up. Sylvain's eyes are clear of sadness or bitterness, his smile genuine. Although she can see the pent-up need and eagerness for her to settle him, she can tell that this day has been good to him. Now wasn't the time to bring up the day's troubles, they'd need to talk, but she'd wait until later. 

He drops his gaze, still smiling, and leans into her hand.

"How can I serve you tonight, Mercedes?" There's a slight tremble in his voice, need gone just a little too long to hold back. 

He needs more than the few minutes they had. Something that’d carry through dinner and beyond. She narrows down her options and smiles, decision made. 

She strokes his face gently, drawing it out a moment more, before letting her hand fall away and turning her back to the bookshelves.

"Come up here, I want to kiss you.”

Sylvain scrambles up, his usual grace overruled by his eagerness, standing over her and boxing her in with his hands gripping the bookshelves above her. He leans in, hungry, but pauses before claiming her lips, silently asking permission.

Mercedes reaches up on her toes to give him a light kiss instead, drawing away before he can follow.

"No," She says, when he lifts a hand from the bookshelf to cup her face, "Keep them on the shelf. Stay where you are."

"Alright," There's a sparkle of amusement and curiosity as he obeys, "I can't do much for you like this though."

“If I want you to do something for me, I’ll tell you. Remember? You don’t need to worry.” 

Sylvain nods, a little chastised, shifting to accommodate as she pulls him closer. She kisses him again, more deeply, and pulls back again, this time in surprise. "Have you been drinking?"

"Just a little," Sylvain grins, "I went for a round with everyone before coming back. You know, part of team-building."

"And you left me waiting?" She teases, tugging lightly on a lock of his hair, running a hand down his side.

"It was just one round, and you'd be proud of me. Only the tiniest bit of self-deprecation, which I scolded myself for immediately and retracted."

"I'm always proud of you," She giggles, giving him another kiss at the grin of pure happiness that remark elicits, "It didn't matter much in the end. Your father wanted to talk to me about something and I only got here a few minutes before you." 

"Oh?" A shadow she didn't want there passes over his face, "What did he want?"

"It’s not important right now." She grips his chin, letting a hint of dominance tint her words, "Right now, I am kissing you and you aren't going to think of anything else."

"As if I could." There's a hint of the blush she wants to make deeper.

She claims his lips again, giving his scarf gentle tugs to loosen it, much to his consternation until he realizes that she just wants access to his throat. Sylvain gasps, tipping his head up, as her lips dance over his pulse point. Her hands deftly unbutton his shirts and push fabric to the side until she can leave the marks she's threatened where no one will see them, drawing hums and a low inhale of breath as she runs her hands up and down his torso. He tastes a little of soap and warmth.

His pants are in the way and she smirks up at him as she loosens the belt and unbuttons them, drawing the garment down just enough to clear the curve of his ass and get bunched on his strong thighs.

Mercedes steps back, drawing the key on its chain from around her neck.

"Are we skipping dinner then?" Sylvain asks, eyes full of a different sort of hunger.

"No," she smiles, unlocking his cage and hiding it away in one of the pouches on his belt, "This won’t take that long."

Any quip about his endurance that Sylvain's preparing in response to that statement is swallowed up by her kiss and one hand stroking him, the other wandering across his chest.

There really wasn't enough time to do everything she wants, unfortunately. No time to hike up her skirts and order Sylvain back to his knees and press him to her, to serve her with his tongue, cock hard and neglected. No time to push him into one of the moderately uncomfortable library chairs and ride him until he's begging for release. No time to hold him after, to smooth away any doubts about much he is loved and how good he is.

Sylvain moans, bucking up into her hand.

She shushes him, nipping at his collar bone, "Hold still for me, sweetheart. I didn’t give you permission to move."

He stills, returning her kiss desperately. She feels so powerful like this, holding his pleasure in her hands as he obeys, even if she can tell how difficult it is to hold back from taking more.

Mercedes palms his face, running her thumb along his cheek and stepping back, eyes roaming over skin she's exposed, considering the risks as she examines the unmarked column of his neck. 

She leaves her mark on his throat, gripping his hair tight, his moan vibrating on her lips. It's on the side that'd be facing away from his father during dinner, just in case the damned man insists on Sylvain removing his scarf. 

"Stay right there." She says, pulling away.

She trails a hand around his torso and flank before moving away as she sets her knitting bag in a nearby chair.

Rummaging through her knitting bag, Mercedes mutters in frustration before settling on what she wants and withdraws the oil and one of the numerous toys that she'd hidden that morning. 

He's still, a beautiful picture, bent over slightly, hands grabbing at the bookshelves, cock hard for anyone to see if they walked in, the son of a lord at the mercy of the daughter of dissolved houses. There's no need to dwell on that though. Not with Sylvain waiting, so good and willing.

Mercedes returns and runs her hand up the plane of Sylvain's back, feeling his muscles tense and relax as she massages gently under his shirt. She takes some time to grope his ass, murmuring appreciatively at the results of years of riding, but eventually she returns to the items she grabbed. His head tilts up a little at the sound of the vial stopper being pulled out, but he remembers her instructions and doesn't turn his head to see what she's doing behind him.

"You're doing so well for me," Mercedes reassures, smoothing the oil over the tip of the plug, before pressing her hand to one of his cheeks. He clenches and inhales as she presses the cold plug to him and holds it there, waiting for him to relax, smoothing her thumb over his cheek. "You're so good for me, that's it."

Working it inside him gently, she revels in the sight of him eagerly taking what she's giving him, a low moan wretched from Sylvain's lips as the plug is fully seated. Would that they had more time, so that she could draw out more of those sweet sounds. 

Mercedes wipes her hand clear of any remaining oil, then returns to touching Sylvain, wherever she can reach.

'That'll have to do for now," she says, turning him around. He's flushed, cock hard, eyes as hungry as they are reverent, as she kisses him, another moan as she strokes him once before drawing his pants back up and fastening them, "I'd love to take my time, make you desperate for me, make you beg to come."

"I'm already desperate for you," he gasps, and she knows it’s true. But he could be pushed much further.

"Good," Mercedes says, finishing up setting his clothes in order, and leading him by the hand over to the chair, moving the bag out of it and grabbing a pillow, handing it to Sylvain. "Kneel for me."

She revels in the faint squirm of his hips as he complies, the plug just big enough not to be able to ignore, angled to press lightly against his prostate. Just enough to tease.

"How does it feel?" She tips his chin up, gazing into the warm eyes full blown in arousal. 

"It feels… Mercie, can I serve you? Please?" He’s still struggling to listen, isn’t he? To just take what she gives him without worry that he’s not giving anything in return, when he so clearly is.

"You are, sweetheart," She cups his face and kisses him, "Tell me how it feels."

"It feels good," he kisses her back and she can feel the slight tension as he struggles to keep himself from seeking some sort of friction, to keep still, hands crossed at the small of his back, his posture perfect, "Please, there's not much time. I want to please you."

"There's exactly as much time as I needed, sweetheart. I’ll tell you if I need you to do something for me, remember? And I’ve told you to do nothing but take what I’ve given you." She kisses his forehead, "It pleases me that you're being so good for me. It pleases me that every time you move at dinner tonight, you'll feel the plug that _I_ placed in you. That you'll be hard and unable to do anything about it, because I want you to be."

Sylvain blushes, a visible shiver rushes through him, eyes widening.

"Mercedes, that's so cruel." He jokes, relaxing a little now that he knows her intentions for him.

Mercedes giggles, stroking his face, "Maybe a little cruel. But it pleases me. So, don't worry. This is how I want you to serve me."

They stay there a few minutes more, Mercedes ruffling her hands through his wavy crimson hair and pressing kisses interspersed with words of love and affection, before Sylvain is directed to leave ahead of her, leaving the pillow behind. She rather likes the idea of someone finding it here later and wondering who had had the privilege of kneeling there, in the Gautier family library. 

While Sylvain may call it cruel, Mercedes sees it as a round-about act of mercy. Where he'd usually be restless, with servants attending him as the dominant Gautier heir his father demanded of him, instead of him serving others, he’s quiet and smiling. Where he’d be watching in agony as Annette serves Mercedes and then happily kneels at her side, to eat from her hand, he’s content with meeting her eyes and blushing with a wink as he squirms.

Even the Margrave's usual nonsense doesn't break through the relaxation that Sylvain blames on a hard day's work. There's talk of Constance and Mercedes manages to wrangle an invitation to tea the next day to meet with her, but not even that brings Sylvain out of headspace. As she suspected she’s been able to settle him without having to do anything that'd risk his well-being in front of his pompous ass of a father. 

The Margrave looks from Sylvain to her a time or two in suspicious confusion, but she just smiles sweetly in return. She's so smug she could burst.

"I don't suppose that you can sneak out tonight?" Mercedes asks quietly as she pulls him aside from all the others when he and his father see the guests to the door. He'd say yes in an instant if she makes it less of a question. Honestly, that probably wasn't in their best interest, even if she does want to drag him to her room and fuck him until they're both exhausted.

"Father would kill me if I'm not here in the morning." He tenses a little, a hint of a blush forming, "Maybe I could sneak back in, after?"

He'd be dead to the world after she's through with him. 

She says something, loud enough for the others to hear, about a new style she's heard about, and steps closer. Annette’s distracting the others with a song she’s made up on the spot about the cold, but she takes the extra precaution. 

"We'd better not. You however," She plays at rearranging his scarf, inspecting the mark she'd given him earlier, dark and vividly declaring her claim. "Have a few things to do for me."

"Anything, Mercedes. Please." He hardly breathes, excited.

"You've worked so hard today, and been so good for me, I think you deserve a reward. When you retire for the evening, you'll come for me. As many times as you can, before you lock yourself away again." She smirks at him. "And when you're finished, you'll get a good night's sleep. Can't have you too tired for your company tomorrow. I want you just worn out enough that I can see you've enjoyed yourself."

She pats his chest, over the newly styled scarf, and says loud enough for the others to hear, "Well, Annie and I must be off. See you at tea tomorrow, Sylvain."

Grabbing the Margrave's attention, she thanks him for the lovely evening, looping an arm with Annette before departing in a burst of giggles.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain hosts tea and many feelings are had. Not necessarily fun ones.

"Oh, this is all?" Constance had said, giving him a thorough look over that left Sylvain feeling distinctively uncomfortable and lacking, "Margrave, you know that I am looking for a research assistant. I was hoping that you would present him with some sort of practical demonstration of his magical abilities or something."

"I thought you would prefer a more casual introduction over a late breakfast. Surely, you'll be able to get to know each other better over a meal than on the training grounds. After all, the war's over and fighting ability is hardly a requirement for a partner. Besides, House Gautier is well-known for"

"I have already told you, I am not looking for a partner. House Nuvelle doesn’t need a useless nobleman to trip over, submissive or otherwise."

"I'm more than just a pretty face," he had winked at her, "And relax, we've got a whole two weeks to see if I'm what you're looking for."

His father had sputtered at that, but in the end, there had almost been a look of begrudging admiration as Sylvain flirted his way into Constance's good graces, stroking her ego as he only knew too well how to do. Clearly, she had either never known, or had forgotten about his reputation at the academy, or otherwise it might never have worked. It sickened him how easy it was to slip back into that predatory role, even after all this time he had spent trying to unlearn those habits, learning to be charming but harmless rather than actively appearing to pursue someone. 

However unpleasant, it had gotten him through the first encounter with both his father and his new suitor without too much awkwardness, and sometimes, that's all he could ask for, even if his father had taken him aside afterwards, begging him to at least mind propriety.

As if he'd cross those lines while he belonged to someone else. Especially when he felt guilty enough about the whole thing anyway.

"Are you sure, my lord?"

"Of course!" Sylvain smiles, "These are my guests and I'm perfectly capable of serving them tea."

The older woman smiles in return, but still hesitates, "The Margrave won't be pleased."

"What my father doesn't know won't hurt him? Right, Jeanne?" Sylvain asks, giving her his most charming grin.

"That didn't work on me when you were twelve and it won't work now." It had, but only on either very serious things, or things she suspected his father wouldn't notice otherwise. His father may have a tight grip on this household, but Sylvain suspected that he'd gotten away with much more than his father would have preferred, due to fondness. 

"At the very least, what he won't know for an hour or two?" 

She sighs, shaking her head. "I suppose I can avoid him for an hour or two. Here," she hands him a note, "Tea itself should be simple enough, I believe Lady Martritz and Lady Dominic are bringing the accompanying sweets, as usual. I'll be near and can have something sent up from the kitchen."

"Thank you!" Sylvain says, glancing over the list of both Mercedes and Constance's tea preferences, "I definitely owe you one."

"You definitely do not, my lord, but thank you."

Voices from down the hall draw their attention. Sylvain picks out Mercedes and Constance's voices immediately from the chatter and takes a deep breath. Balancing act between serving two dominants, unofficially competing for his affections while keeping his father out of the loop? This will be fun.

"Good afternoon, ladies!" he says, bowing and gesturing dramatically into the parlor where everything was waiting for them, "If you'll step right this way."

Constance laughs and steps through the door and into the cozy room without comment, but Mercedes gives him the same wicked smile she had left him with last night and he stiffens, suddenly trying hard to _not_ think about the previous evening as she moves past him.

"Oh, Annie!" Sylvain says, intercepting her before she can hand off the baked goods to Jeanne, "You take care of the treats, I'll handle the tea?"

She lights up, giving him a hug.

"Just like old times?"

"Old times? It’s not been that long!"

She smiles, bounding into the room, but Sylvain pauses at the chuckle from Jeanne.

"It seems I'm leaving your guests in good hands."

"Only the best!" Sylvain grins, "Rest assured, this is not my first time handling a teapot. Or two."

The woman smiles, then glances at the occupants of the room before searching his eyes, looking as if she'd like to say something. 

"I'll see if I can keep your father out of your hair for a few hours, my lord. Please enjoy yourself." is all that she says though, and Sylvain turns his attention to coordinating tea for four people with Annette, habits slightly out of use making things a little awkward at first, even without Constance pulling out a parlor trick and turning the tea vibrant rainbow colors. Soon enough, everyone has their favorite tea and a plate of assorted cookies, all neatly arranged, all without any mishaps, and Sylvain finally gets his chance to kneel openly in his father's house.

He settles between Mercedes and Constance and beams at Annette across the low table meant to facilitate both submissives and dominants being able to hold a conversation. If anyone here notices that he’s placed himself slightly closer to Mercedes, they’re not saying anything. 

"And how's my brother doing?" Mercedes askes, as he finally settles and starts paying attention, "I barely got to say goodbye before we left, with him running off with Professor Byleth and all."

"Oh, but it seems as if I have only seen him a few times since you left. Neither of them are in Enbarr for long, and they are always off together."

This launches a conversation about Jeritza that Sylvain really doesn't have anything to positively add to, the Death Knight being an uncomfortable memory rather than anything of interest. This somehow eventually leads to the three ladies trailing back to talking about their respective times at the Royal School of Sorcery, which he also can't contribute much to, so he contents himself with the role of host.

Sylvain is in full form. He nods along with the conversation, adding little comments and jokes, making sure that cups were always filled with the appropriate tea, sans Constance's magical interference, discarded things moved out of the way and tidy in a manner that allows Annette the ability to dole out more treats, should they be requested, which, of course, they are. Things are a lot less awkward than he'd imagined they would be and some of his nerves quiet.

At least until Mercedes, during a lull in the conversation, turns to him and asks with a hint of a tease "Did you sleep well last night?" and he half-chokes on a cookie, quickly gulping at his Bergamot as he tries to hide his blush.

"I slept very well last night, thank you." he says with a wink, "Hard not to, after all that work I did yesterday."

"What, playing politics with your father?" Constance asks, curious, and there was a slight undercurrent there that suggested she wouldn't be impressed.

"Framing houses, actually," he smiles at the look of surprise, "There's been several either burnt or torn down during the war and I've been assisting with the rebuilding efforts."

"He's been helping set up the orphanage too." Mercedes says.

"When his father lets him out of his sight." Annette adds in, with an expression as close to a scowl as possible on her cheerful face.

"So," Constance says, turning her attention to him, approving, "You _can_ be useful in a practical sense."

"I do try," he smiles easily, a lie, the part of him that warmed at the approval clashing with the thought of her just seeing him as a means to an end, "I told you, I'm more than a pretty face."

Mercedes gifts him one of the smiles that she reserves for when she can tell he's not being sincere, but she understands his reasons and is letting him get away with it, "He's doing a lot of good here, both and out of the meeting room."

"I see," Constance says, "Your father left me with quite a different impression in his letters. He suggested that, with the war over, you were struggling with finding new purpose. But it appears that you are not only already occupied but enjoying yourself while you are at it. Does he not know of your efforts? I find it hard to believe that a lord would try to redirect such devoted attention from rebuilding his territory."

"My father's in a bit of a state, with the transition and all," Sylvain replies, delicately, more than aware that he'd catch it if his father heard any contradiction from the narrative that he'd given Constance, "And he'd prefer that I dedicate my efforts to tasks more in keeping with our station, even if that station won't exist in the near future. Find more noble pursuits."

"You'd think that taking care of his people would be a noble pursuit." Annette mumbles.

"The whims of nobility are sometimes hard to fathom," Constance says, sighing a little, then looks from Mercedes to him and back, "Is the Margrave's disapproval the reason why you have not collared Sylvain yet?"

They all stare at her, Mercedes setting her cup down in shock.

"Well, that's certainly part of it," Mercedes says, "But there are other reasons too."

She gives Sylvain a reassuring smile, which he tries to take to heart against the flailing insecurities that always rise with talk of the future. He knows the previous reasons, the war, the following uncertainty about their places in Edelgard's new order, his father. But there's still the instinctual ache that he's being strung along, that he's not wanted, just the apparently ill-kept secret.

Mercedes opens her mouth to say something else, but Constance interrupts.

"I was surprised to receive correspondence from the Margrave requesting that I consider courting Sylvain," she sips at her tea, "when you specifically came to Gautier to help him rebuild here and I'd heard how close you all are."

She turns her attention to Sylvain, "I have no intention of courting you, as I have told your father, but I cannot pass up the opportunity to acquire a new assistant! Especially if you are not already spoken for."

Constance looks to Mercedes, a smile on her face, "I do hope that I am not stepping on any toes. I would not want to hurt you, my dear Mercedes!"

Sylvain knows Mercedes isn't the jealous type, but he expects that at the very least she'll say something about him being "spoken for", that she'll verbalize some sort of claim in the face of blatant competition. So, when she replies, with light sarcasm "Not at all, Constance. Do as you will." Sylvain laughs bitterly, his fingers wrapping up into his scarf, and says "No collar, so I'm up for grabs, right?" Hurt buried in a joke, once again.

Constance just laughs at the two of them, but Mercedes' eyes drop to his fingers and she knows. She frowns, and Sylvain stiffens at the unhappiness that crosses her face.

"Sylvain," she says, hand cupping his cheek to comfort him, "You know that's not what I meant."

He leans into her hand, letting the smile pasted on his face fall into something a hint more honest. Mercedes sighs, sliding her hand to the back of his neck and pulling him towards her to kiss his forehead.

"We'll talk about it in a bit, alright?" she says, and he nods, settling back onto his heels when she lets go. He only feels a little better.

"I am stepping on toes." Constance says, watching them, frowning for a second, "I see that this trip is a waste, then."

"Well, you get to see us." Annette pipes up, supplying Constance with more cookies.

"You're right. Seeing old friends is a true delight!" Her face lights up, "I know! You can all become assistants! That way you can be together, and I have more hands to help."

"Constance," Mercedes chides with a giggle.

"No need to praise me! I am aware of my genius."

"We just got here, Constance, and we can't abandon-"

The door opens, cutting off the rest of her words as the Margrave enters. His gaze takes in the scene and then his attention lands on Sylvain, the cordial smile reserved for guests turning down.

Sylvain freezes, caught firmly in the clash of one instinct to immediately get off his knees and another to turn his attention back to Mercedes for permission to stand.

"Hello, ladies," his father says, stiffly, and Annette freezes in biting at one of her cookies and shoots Sylvain a worried look before swallowing and half-turning to gawk at his father, "I hate to take your host from you, but I need to speak with my son."

"Would you like to join us?" Mercedes offers, "I'm sure Sylvain won't mind making you a cup and Constance and I have some questions about a matter you'd be interested in."

Sylvain doesn't know if she's referring to the courtship or if she's planning on turning the conversation to something else, but he's thankful that she's trying to keep Sylvain from being dragged off and it eases some of the hurt from earlier.

"Unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to shortly," his father says, but turns to Constance, "Of course, Lady Nuvelle, if you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer them. Feel free to stop by my office at any time. Sylvain?"

His father's eyes are cold as they stare down at him, despite the charming smile on his face.

"Of course," Sylvain says, cheerfully, "If it’s alright with you ladies?"

Against all his instincts, he turns to Constance first, the need to appear to be following standard courting protocol in front of his father overriding everything else.

"Certainly," Constance says, and waves him off.

He turns to Mercedes, half-expecting her to be angry at the obvious snub, but she smiles in reassurance and nods.

"Come back soon," she says, "we enjoy your company."

"Thank you," Sylvain says, rising from his knees, "I'll be right back."

Annette shoves a cookie at him on his way out, and he beams at her. He's able to keep up the smile until the door closes and his father turns on him.

“What in the goddess's name are you doing?” he hisses and Sylvain shrugs, looking away and biting into the cookie.

“Hosting tea, what did it look like I was doing? Sparring?” It's hard to mumble around the mouthful, but he'd take the discomfort any day over not having a distraction right now.

“On your knees like a common whore? We have servants for a reason.”

“Nothing like having servants around to fostering a welcome environment and making a suitor more comfortable.”

“You are my son; the heir of Gautier and you will not debase—”

“I’m also a submissive,” Sylvain cuts him off, stuffing the rest of the cookie into his mouth. Goddess bless Mercedes and Annette, “and Lady Nuvelle is expecting to court a submissive. I’m acting within protocol, there’s no need for the whore comment.”

The Margrave’s eyes narrow. 

“She knows who you are and would expect you to act appropriately as a noble.”

“I _am_ acting appropriately. Just because you haven’t had a noble submissive in decades and have forgotten much in your old age doesn’t mean things have changed. And whether you like or not, I can't change what I am, I can only work with it.”

The Margrave turns red in anger at Sylvain’s impertinence, but Sylvain continues.

“She’s not looking for a noble anyway, you heard her this morning. She’s looking for someone useful, not a nobleman who waits around on others to serve. If this scheme of yours is going to work, you need to give her what she wants. And that’s not going to be easy if you’re constantly fussing about how I do this. Trust me,” he says, hand up behind his head as he shrugs, “I know what I’m doing. I’m good at getting a girl’s interest.”

“But not keeping it.” His father says, drily, but his anger seems to fade away into something more calculating.

“No,” Sylvain replies frankly, “I’m good at that too. They’re just not good at keeping mine. And I’m historically not very kind about it.”

The Margrave snorts, but the humor doesn’t lighten the mood.

“She’d better keep yours, Sylvain.” He considers, and then continues, “Fine, you do things your way, and I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

“Perfect!” Sylvain says, turning towards the door.

“However.” Sylvain cringes at the fall of his father’s hand on his shoulder, turning him back around.

“What?” he pulls away.

“I have decided that your work with Lady Martritz and Lady Dominic is finished. We can’t afford to have you distracted and we definitely cannot have Lady Nuvelle noticing how shamelessly you flirt with everyone.”

“What?” Sylvain repeats, confused, "Why?"

“You heard me. Your priorities are here, working to secure Gautier’s holding, not building houses or chasing after other women. Unless they’re here as my guests, you’ll not be in contact with them. I've spoken with Lady Martritz and she made it clear that she wouldn't respect my wishes regarding you, therefore, you're not to see her.”

Sylvain stares, horrified, white hot flashes of anger and despair pulsing through him.

“And with that, I must return to my paperwork. Enjoy the rest of your tea and continue to make a good impression on Lady Nuvelle.” The man turns, leaving Sylvain staring after him as he strides away down the long hall.

“I’m so sorry, my lord,” Jeanne says, coming from around the corner as soon as the Margrave departs, “He saw me and remembered that I was supposed to be in there with all of you. I didn't say much, but he knew."

"It’s alright." Sylvain says, winding fingers back into his scarf, trying to find a joke that'd work, "I'm surprised that he didn't come by sooner. With as paranoid as he's become, you would think he'd want to supervise my every move."

He's not allowed to see Mercedes. Not that he'd been given a long leash anyway since he'd returned home, but this was worse. He won’t comply, of course, he's not a child and his father is being absurd, especially if he thinks that forbidding him is all that it takes. They'll just have to make sure that they're more discrete, if that's even possible.

It just makes his stomach drop; the stakes are rising, and he feels the uncertainty that's been constantly overshadowing the future tighten around him. Where there wasn't a tangible end in sight before, there's a sense that something is about to break open into a wretched thing, no matter how things end. Something is going to give, and he's not sure he's ready for it.

"My lord," Jeanne says, softly, "Your guests are waiting on you."

"Right," he says, untangling his fingers from his scarf and trying to shake out the unhappy thoughts, return to the charming mask he keeps so close it's a second skin, despite Mercedes' gentle undoing, "Gotta keep going."

"If it's any consolation, my lord," she hesitates, "We all like her and Lady Dominic. And most of us wish for your happiness. I'm sorry the Margrave doesn't approve."

"So am I." Sylvain admits, before pulling himself back together and returning to the parlor.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Constance run the Margrave off his own training yard, and then Sylvain endures two painful conversations.

"Another one, I think," Constance says, a flourish of her quill signifying yet another remark on Sylvain's performance that she wasn't allowing him to see. "Go fetch another non-magic resistant dummy. I want to observe the blast radius again."

Sylvain's father, a few paces away while training with one of his commanders, lowers his lance and gives them a disapproving scowl before retaliating against the blow that said commander thought she could get away with while his attention was turned elsewhere. The man hadn't participated in an actual battle in a decade, but kept up his training, ever ready for an invasion. Sylvain is certainly not that dedicated. Five years of war was quite enough, thank you. He's earned the break.

"As you wish, my lady." Sylvain smirks, then goes to grab a training dummy from the rapidly depleting supply. His father's fault for not taking into consideration that there were three mages and a dark knight invading the training yard on a regular basis now, after taking tea together almost daily. 

That was the Margrave's fault too. For all the careful planning the man had done, for all his scheming and simpering, he had not accounted for the combined sheer pettiness of one Constance Nuvelle annoyed by having her intentions ignored and one Mercedes Martritz angered by the harm done to Sylvain yet again.

Mercedes had known, of course, that something had gone wrong the instant he had walked back into the parlor intending to smooth over the whole thing. Instead, he'd found himself on his knees with a warm cup of tea back in hand before he could craft any sort of witty response, babbling out all that had been said, as well as explaining everything his father had planned from the beginning.

When it was all out, Constance had leaned back, given Sylvain a sly grin and turned to Mercedes to say, "My dear Mercedes, I have enjoyed you company so much that I would be remiss if I did not invite you to tea every day during my stay. If you can spare the time, of course."

By the time she'd followed it up with marching Sylvain down to his father's office to gush about how well he'd done hosting tea and insisting that that the Margrave send a carriage to the orphanage the next day so she could enjoy her friends' company, Sylvain had decided that he liked her. Even if she was completely overwhelming at times.

It had made an otherwise dreary acting requirement an absolute delight as he and Constance ran circles around his father, flirting outrageously with each other, Constance's glittering chatter distracting him while Sylvain got to almost see more of Mercedes daily than he had during the war. In exchange, all four of them contributed to a side project Constance had devised to ensure that she remained productive during her stay. When the others weren't available, or the day too bright, it lead to early evenings like these, just the two of them in turn exasperating his father, giving him even more false hope while flinging spell after spell at whatever training dummy Constance deemed unfortunate.

"How's this?" Sylvain asks, draping an arm over the training dummy in a friendly fashion.

"Perfect," Constance says, not looking up.

"Well, buddy, I've got good news and bad news for you," he says, to the dummy. "Good news, your life being beaten and stabbed with training spears is over. Bad news is, you're about to be repeatedly ignited."

"We don't have all day, Sylvain." Constance notes dryly, though she does give him a fond glance. "Bolganone or Ragnarok, this time. I want to see the full extent of your skill with fire."

"Or you'll just have a quick incineration," Sylvain says, patting the dummy's shoulder, “In exchange for your faithful service to House Gautier all these long, cold years.”

Constance sniffs delicately, scratching an additional note with a flourish.

“I am beginning to think you are all talk, Sylvain. I shall be quite disappointed if I am correct.”

“Don’t worry, my lady,” he says with a wink, sauntering over. “I have what it takes to back it up, trust me."

He catches his father rolling his eyes as he turns and gives him his version of Mercedes' sweet innocent smile and squares off against the dummy. Gathering the heat as the magic burbles forth from him, more than he would usually risk on the battlefield, for need to conserve energy, he spins the spell and releases it, reveling in his father's shocked curses as fire is pulled from all corners of the training room and explodes violently outward, leaving the dummy in ashes and weakly burning embers, so little of it remains, and his father diving for cover.

He gives the Margrave another one of Mercedes's smiles and turns to Constance.

"Well? Do I measure up?"

"That was perfectly adequate," she says, but the smile and the burst of quill scratching implies that she's excited. "Another."

"That wasn't enough?" He sees his father's head swiveling back towards their conversation, bewildered.

"Of course not! As I have said before, multiple trials are needed to establish a baseline! I would be negligent if we progressed without at three trials with the same spell, intensity, and materials. Five would be even better, but I suspect your stamina will run out before that point."

"Oh, don't worry about my stamina. Although, there's more fun ways of measuring that, and you won't even have to bring your clipboard." He shoots her a wink that she acknowledges with a blank look of disapproval, his father choking on nothing in the background.

"Nonsense, progress is not progress unless it is well documented. You would do well to remember that."

"I think," his father says, to his commander, "that that is enough for me for the evening."

"As you wish, my lord," the woman says, giving Sylvain an amused glance as she takes the Margrave's lance and turns to put both of their weapons up.

Sylvain goes to fetch another unfortunate training dummy.

"Sylvain." 

There's a prickle down his neck that he suppresses before it turns into a shiver. His father sounds odd, and that can’t bode well.

"Yeah?" He says it casually, grabbing the nearest dummy and hoisting it up onto his shoulder. Sylvain turns, catching a strange expression on his father's face before it too is smoothed into something neutral.

"Come by my office after you're done here." 

He sees Constance look up from her notes, shrewd and eyes narrowed. It warms him, a little, that despite them being strangers only a few weeks ago, that she's taken to looking out for him, even if she's definitely getting a lot of entertainment out of it as well as trying to entice them all out of Gautier.

"Of course."

There's a ill-hidden sigh of relief as the Margrave finally leaves, only a few people other than himself and Constance remaining, though it looks like most of them are wrapping up their training as well.

"Why do you let him do that?"

"Do what?" Sylvain asks as he passes her to set the dummy in place.

"Let him push you around? It obviously makes you uncomfortable."

"I don't have much of a choice, I have family obligations and unfortunately, listening to my old man is one of them. Its all part and parcel of being from a noble family. Duty, honor, marrying the right person to make sure the crest gets passed on, you know how it goes." 

Constance lays her quill aside, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"I do not, actually. Not entirely anyway."

"No?" 

"My parents passed away when I was fourteen. There had been talk about matchmaking, but House Nuvelle was renowned for its study of sorcery and it was always assumed that I would follow in my father's footsteps. I was very gifted from a young age, of course."

"I have no doubt. You never wanted to do anything else?"

"No, of course not!" There was a challenge there, that Sylvain didn't feel like pursuing.

"Lucky you."

"My point is, Mercedes has already laid her claim on you, as far as the rest of the world is concerned and I fail to see why you let your father insist otherwise."

"What's there to say? I don't like confrontation, so I let him think what he will and then I try to do what I want. It will all work itself out."

"That does not seem sustainable. At some point he will assume that I'm going to collar you and then where will you be?"

Sylvain shrugs.

"I don't know, depends on Mercedes? She's the one who's supposed to offer the collar."

"But at this point, it doesn't look like you are willing to take it."

"What do you mean?" He looks away, towards the dummy on the darkened training ground, afraid of the answer.

"If you are not willing to stand up for your relationship to the one person who stands in its way, why should Mercedes assume that you desire to continue it at all? If-"

"You needed another trial?" Sylvain says, abruptly cutting off whatever she had to say next. "We should get to it before it's too late."

"Oh, yes, " Constance says, sufficiently distracted by the return to a topic of personal interest to let the previous be, "Same intensity, if you will."

"Of course, my lady."

Several spells and good feeling restored between them later, Sylvain bids Constance a good night, making his way towards his father's office.

"You know that I was just making a joke earlier, right?" he asks, when he's given permission to enter, "I wasn't actually offering any solicitous alternatives for stamina testing."

"What?" His father sputters at him from behind his desk, looking unusually out of control. He shakes his head, sternly schooling his features.

"Come in, sit down. I don't have all night."

"Sure." Sylvain closes the door behind him, taking the liberty of slouching in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

He's prepared for more talk about Constance, and he's not disappointed.

"Things are progressing well with Lady Nuvelle. I'm impressed, you both seem to get along well."

"Of course," Sylvain says, leaning his head back on his hands, smiling, "It’s all part of the Gautier charm."

"Maybe there's something useful about all your flirting after all, then." his father considers, then shrugs. "Things are going so well, in fact, that I'm considering sending you with her when she returns to Enbarr."

"Already?" Sylvain asks, keeping his smile neutral, his voice even, "That's a little premature, don't you think? The usual game was a visit, then let them go home and realize they miss you, and _then_ write a letter innocently suggesting that you don't have anything else going on, and wait for an invitation. After all, if you're too eager, it comes across as insincere. And we don't want Lady Nuvelle to question the depth of my affections. Plus, it's kind of rude."

His father pauses, the anger at being contradicted offset by the sense of Sylvain's words.

"You are good at this." He's surprised.

"You have to be, with all the girls I've gone after." He adds a wink, although the effort is wasted on such a man.

The Margrave stares at him a minute.

"I'm surprised, you know." he says, "I thought you'd put up more resistance, after all the rumors about you and Lady Matritz and your own interest in her."

"Well, you know me. I'm highly adaptable where women are concerned."

He's refusing to let the smile go, even if the conversation suddenly feels like he's stepped barefoot into a room full of broken glass.

"I was impressed yesterday, when I went down to the orphanage and saw that you were perfectly attentive to the proper lady even with your other interest there."

And now Sylvain absolutely can't break out into a bigger grin, as he thinks of the half-hour that Constance and Annette had completely distracted the Margrave, while Mercedes put him on his knees and came on his mouth in the next room over, balancing herself on the adjoining wall. 

They've obeyed the rules and put on a good show, but that doesn't mean a thing when it matters. If anything, Mercedes has enjoyed getting one over the old fool as many times as safely possible, reveled in claiming him when he said she can't. And Sylvain has been more than happy to comply.

"You've finally sorted out your priorities," his father says, jolting Sylvain back to the present conversation, "I'm glad that you're finally carrying out your duty, even if it’s not in the manner I expected of you."

There's no likelihood that Sylvain would ever measure up to the manner expected, no matter what he did, but there's little point to bringing that up.

His father coughs, "I'm proud of you, Sylvain."

The words hit sharper than any slap he's ever endured, his spirits rising before plummeting.

"Excuse me?" Sylvain says. 

His father has only ever said those words twice before, as far as Sylvain can remember. Once to Miklan, before Sylvain's crest manifested and once to Sylvain, when it did. 

It’s funny, how badly the words from his father he's been craving all his life hurt. As fuzzy as the distant memory is, he remembers how happy Miklan had been, how pleased he'd been to gain the Margrave's approval, only to be spurned once their father no longer had any use for him. He remembers that coldness being turned on him when it became wildly apparent that Sylvain was a submissive, that he would never be the dominant Gautier heir his father had expected of him, that all the previous heirs in their history had been. He'd never discarded him the way he had his eldest son, but there was no denying that his approval only extended as long as Sylvain lived up to his expectations, his sincerity contingent on rules that Sylvain could never obey.

"You heard what I said." His father frowns, "Do we need to worry about your hearing?"

His father is lying, not even willing to repeat it. Even if it’s not likely deliberate, it hurts.

"No," Sylvain says, recovering, and the conversation turns back to the Margrave discussing his plans and Sylvain's place in them. 

He lets the words roll over him, giving hums and nods where appropriate, wrapping Mercedes' scarf tight in his hands, until he's dismissed.

He's dressed for a night out and in town before he fully realizes that his feet have led him there. He stares at the door of the tavern, hesitating.

Mercedes would want him to come to her, he's not supposed to deal with things this way. But he's not supposed to see her and, well, her collar's not on his neck, because she won't put it there for the world to see. His instincts scream at him to turn and leave, but there's too much breaking for him to follow them.

Sylvain shrugs, bitter, and steps inside. He needs a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I read through 'won't go down easy', a story about Felix being an utter brat and fighting his nature, and thought: "What about Sylvain, who gives into his nature far too easily but also hates what it means?" Then dustofwarfare wrote something about Sylvain and Mercedes rebuilding Gautier and I went "YES."
> 
> At the moment, I'm not planning on making this a long series, more of a one-shot. But, if there's interest and dusty doesn't mind me playing around with the world she's building, I wouldn't mind continuing.
> 
> I'm on twitter: https://twitter.com/justfe3hthings


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